


In the Death Well

by Pacifia



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Book 5: Thick as Thieves (Queen's Thief), Friendship, Gen, Immakuk and Ennikar, Insight, Spoilers for Book 5: Thick as Thieves (Queen's Thief), thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27739573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacifia/pseuds/Pacifia
Summary: Left for dead in the well of the miller in Zaboar, Costis waits and wonders
Relationships: Kamet & Costis Ormentiedes
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	In the Death Well

_“. . . I closed my eyes briefly and saw an image of the Attolian lying at the bottom of the well, not dead but dying. His legs or his back broken, calling for help. For a drink of water in the dark. Begging the miller to save him. I shook the image away . . . All were alive one day and dead the next, as instantly as the Attolian, and yet this feeling was new, this particular loss, as if some part of me had been hollowed out, leaving me at a standstill and directionless . . .”_

**~ Megan Whalen Turner, _Thick as Thieves_**

* * *

I wondered if my king would grieve.

It was a deep well, and I will admit my extreme fear when I fell through the rotten well-cover. I had taken the shape of a ball, covering, in desperation, my head, and pushing my knees into my chest. Of course, I knew it would hardly cushion my impact but better broken limbs than a broken neck. The fear seized me tightly and I waited for the ground to crack and shatter my bones. I would be impossible to mend.

There were many _cracks_ and _snaps_.

But it was not the hard ground that greeted me but the meaty, pillowing body of the dog that had led me to fall into the gods-damned well. The dog was dead before the snaps even came, blood now gushing out of its mouth, flowing over its salivated and lolling tongue. Its yelp was lost to me in the cracks.

I scrambled off it clumsily, unable to balance my weight on it. I heard some shouting and then running footfalls. I tried to call out, but my vision was darkening, the stone of the walls dotted with black spots. And soon, without my knowledge, I fell unconscious.

I woke when my bruises twinged and ached. Brutal was their pain and I groaned, slowly becoming aware of my surroundings. The well was circular, stony, and very yellow and silver, bathed in the sunlight spilling in from the very irregular and odd hole in the rotten well-cover. I got to my feet, swaying dangerously. And decided to wait and think before I acted. My hand brushed past the hilt of the cheap sword I distasted. A wonder, I thought. It could have pierced me through. I snapped my head around, searching for the bow and arrows. The arrows could have just as easily gone through my heart and ended me. Or the dog could have fallen on top of me, crushing my punctured lungs as I gasped desperately for air. Life was a game of chance, I thought. Or miracles.

 _You’ll never die of a fall unless the god himself drops you,_ I recalled my king’s words suddenly and looked up at the atrociously fuming sun. Tears sprang to my eyes, only partly because of the bright light. I hid my face in my palms, bowing humbly, and I wept.

An hour must have passed as I expressed my tangible gratitude and murmured thankful prayers to my king’s god and the god Miras. Many others, I had whispered to all the while. When I finally looked up, the sun had only slightly lowered, still hanging like a raging ball of fire in the sky. It was time to get out of here, I thought. But I stopped in my place.

Where was Kamet?

The burly miller must have assumed me dead. What if poor Kamet had fallen a victim to him, too? What if he had turned him over? But I had heard running, the raucous footfalls. He had to have escaped. But he would have come back. Perhaps he thought I was dead. I didn’t know if it was better that way. I slumped down again, and looked at the piteous dog. The dead creature had roasted dry under the sun, and I was dripping with sweat. I fanned my cheek with my hand and stood up, without stumbling this time.

My skin was itching ferociously and I realised I was thoroughly covered in flour and it had stuck to my skin with the sweat. Grunting, I looked around. I picked the sword and let it hang securely at my hip and looked in anticipation at the top of the well. The hole was large enough for me to manoeuvre out.

However, the climb, I suspected was going to be anything possible.

The walls were too smooth, not even one crevice or crack. The bricks had been melded into each other, smoothened out by mortar. Despite it, I tried, running my hand over the wall, looking for at least, just a small cavity, only large enough to fit my fingers in. Nothing. I tried fixing my sword into the wall but the blade was too blunt. It was useless.

I tried until the sun lowered further and slumped down in defeat, scooting away from the dead dog. I was killed by a dog, I thought. A dog! Of all the things! I gingerly touched the ring in my ear, feeling with my finger, the seal of my king. I had failed him. I had failed too many people.

I thought of Kamet.

We were not well out of the emperor’s reach just yet. Kamet had been right. If we had made the climb of the Taymets, so could twenty of the Namreen. A small bribe and Kamet would be dragged back to the feet of his master, flogged and tortured, and enslaved again. Perhaps he would seek help the Attolian trade centre in Zaboar. He was clever.

That was why he left me.

I threw a dry lump of mud at the wall of the well and it burst open, sprinkling sand everywhere.

I prayed as the sun lowered and the sweat cooled. I prayed for a quicker death. A better death than dying of thirst. I could be here for days, boiling under the sun, until the miller decided it safe enough to haul my body out. Long enough that he wouldn’t fall under suspicion. My throat was already sore and scratchy. And I could feel the first hints of the inflamed fever. I gulped and screeched when my throat burned ferociously at the touch of saliva. At the thoughts of the merciless and painful death that awaited me, I wept once more, silently and crudely.

And I wondered.

I wondered about the people that would miss me. I thought of my family, my farm in the Gede valley, my sister who was going to be married soon. I thought of my friends back in the palace of Attolia. Aris would call me a “stupid bastard!” and say no more in public. But I knew he would weep for me, in the privacy of his small rooms. And my king—

Would _he_ weep for me?

We were friends, acquaintances, yes. I was a favourite, yes. But I wondered if the bond was strong enough to evoke sorrow in him at my loss. I remembered the dread I had felt when I put together the pieces and realised the thief-king was going to be assassinated. The coil. The tightness. I would weep for him. But would _he_ weep for _me_?

I supposed I would never find out and chose to think that, yes, he would, because I was his friend.

Then I thought of Kamet again. Had he felt some grief? Any amount of sorrow? Or had he left knowing I was alive? A coward? Angered again, I threw another lump at the wall. More sand sprinkled and shimmered beautifully under the sun’s profound light.

When I had calmed enough, I lied down on the hard ground, shrinking away from the bloody patches on the grey. And I slept. When I woke the sun had disappeared and the silver moonlight was angling in through the hole, spilling profusely to shine the whole well. I sat up against the well, covering my throat with my hand gingerly, massaging it in hope to reduce the pain. I heard a shuffling of feet and stiffened. It was the miller, I was sure, come to dispose my body. I wasn’t dead. But I couldn’t imagine him suddenly changing spirits and helping me. I remained as silent as the moonlight hitting the walls.

“Monsters of hell,” whispered a quiet voice.

I froze. In the next moment, I recognised the voice and said, “Kamet?”

There was a very sharp silence and I wondered if I had imagined his presence after all. But then the voice came back, saying, “You’re alive?”

“Of course, I’m alive,” I shot back, irate. I didn’t know why. It was logical for him to assume I was dead. I had made no sound to indicate otherwise when he’d fled.

Almost as if he’d heard my thoughts, he said, “Well, why didn’t you say something?”

Irked again, I said, “I just did.”

“I meant before I stuck myself with a splinter like an awl.”

I almost chuckled. “Maybe because I thought you were the miller, you idiot.”

He gave another sharp remark and I told him to stop arguing and find a way to pull me out. He went back into the mill in hopes to find a rope. And I, eternally grateful, looked at the moon. I had abandoned any hope. Any trust in Kamet. Marked him as a coward, and now—

A rope suddenly smashed into my face and I cursed.

And then splinters of wood flew down at me. The well-cover had been smashed. I looked up to see a club being withdrawn. Dear gods, I thought, Kamet is going to die. I assured myself of the sword’s presence once and clutched tightly to the rope. And began the suddenly easy climb. At the top, I scrambled out, hoping desperately that I wouldn’t find Kamet dead, promising Philia a tin coin for my friend’s safety—I could not afford another extreme loan from the Attolian treasury.

When I stood up, I found Kamet staring at me with a pale face and gaping mouth. The miller turned as well. We all froze for a moment. I was weighing my options. The sword would take time to draw, I could knock the miller out with a simple punch. But he suddenly dropped his club and gave a low almost-like-screaming sound. Giving similar, frightened shrieks, he ran away, limping on his bleeding leg. I watched him go and gave Kamet a confused look.

He looked very close to tears and I stood perplexed at how he swallowed his emotions. He reached out to touch my hand and clearly stifled another sob. 

I blinked. This was…unexpected.

He had grieved.

But then he grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the small yard.

We ran until our breaths grew ragged. I smiled, looking at my flour-covered clothes. Truly, I must have terrified the miller out of his wits. A beautiful feeling of pure joy erupted in my chest and I let my hands float in the air.

“Woo—hoooo—hoo-oo!”

We both laughed and I looked at my friend.

He had grieved.

I smiled.

It seemed he was Immakuk, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: I finished ‘Thick as Thieves’ an hour before I began writing this. Even though I wrote it in a hurry, I’m pleased with it. And this is the first time I’ve written for the ‘Queen’s Thief’ series and feedback (constructive criticism or praise) would be very much appreciated!


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